


I'm no choosin' life, alrigh'?!

by chooselife_wolfstar



Category: Trainspotting (Movies), Trainspotting Series - Irvine Welsh
Genre: Angst, Fluff, no beta we die like men, renton is done, simon hates everyone, tell me honestly if it's shite, this is my first work please don't hate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooselife_wolfstar/pseuds/chooselife_wolfstar
Summary: Simon wanted to be someone. Not just someone either, Simon David Williamson. He wanted people to know who he is, he wanted to have contacts, he wanted...glory.Simon's sad, Mark's not sure what to do.
Kudos: 3





	I'm no choosin' life, alrigh'?!

**Author's Note:**

> This might be terrible, who knows?
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> Word Count: 1106

Mark stared at the television. He was sat on the worn sofa, sank back into the peeling leather, watching the Jean Claude Van Damme video from the rental shop with interest. He was alone, of course. Simon hadn't wanted to watch any of that "shite", as he called it, and said that he would only come round on the condition that they watched Goldfinger. Mark, who was sick to his back teeth of Sean Connery despite the fact that he was Scottish and secretly his favourite Bond, had said no. He'd also told Simon that Sean Connery was his least favourite Bond, just to spite him. Simon had, in retaliation, told him where to shove it, and stalked off in a huff. 

Simon really hated people disrespecting Connery, as he saw so much of himself in him. Simon didn't want anyone else knowing, but Connery's Bond was his role model growing up, as the films had started to come out when he was small. Simon didn't want to take the same road as his father. Simon wanted to be someone. Not just someone either, Simon David Williamson. He wanted people to know who he is, he wanted to have contacts, he wanted...glory. And Simon would do anything to get it. Simon didn't care too much for his friends, he saw them as an annoyance rather than a necessary feature of life.

Speaking of life, Simon hated life. He hated people constantly telling him he wasting his. He saw it that it was his to waste, so why should anyone else care? Simon reckoned that people should get their noses out of places that they didn't belong. 

Mark was worried. About Simon. Something had changed within him after Dawn, something had snapped. Simon hadn't been the same. He'd always been cold, always, but now he was...empty. A shell. Not depressed, the drugs didn't allow that when he was on them, but still, Simon was different. And Mark knew better than to lecture him, much less offer a comforting hand. Simon was Simon, and there was nothing Mark could do.

And that wasn't to say that Mark didn't have his own problems, because he definitely did. Mark Renton was messed up alright, yet he felt himself feeling worry for his friend. Because Simon was his friend, because Simon was still Sick Boy, no matter what had happened. Simon was still there, just trapped. Trapped in his own head, determined to shut out his emotions with anger, sending waves of negativity rushing towards everyone within his immediate vicinity. And Simon wondered why he didn't make friends in the business world.

So as Mark stared at the video in the box, mind wondering to his bleach-blonde mess of a friend, Mark felt fear. Mark wasn't afraid of Simon, not even close. If anything Mark was afraid of Begbie, but then again so was everyone else. The Beggers was a scary bastard and no mistake. But Mark felt fear for his friend, because Simon was changing, and Mark didn't like who Simon was becoming. 

The door to Mark's flat banged open, almost being thrown off it's hinges. Mark opened his mouth to moan about the wall and the door and the landlord, but then he saw who had caused the disruption, and quickly shut it again.

Simon. Sick Boy. 

Mark didn't really know what to say. He'd already tested Simon's patience once today with the Connery remark, and Simon's patience was miniscule these days. So Mark played it safe.  
“You alrigh’ Si?” Mark felt that was safe enough. He was only enquiring about Simon’s general wellness after all, nothing too reckless as of yet.  
“Aye. I’m alrigh’, Mark.” Simon’s tone suggested he was anything but. Mark felt he was at a crossroad, and his decision would change the path he took. He could brush it off, or dig deeper.  
Being the type of person he was, it was impossible for Mark to do anything but the obvious.  
“Ye sure you’re alrigh’, mate? Ye don’t sound too chuffed tae me.”  
“I’m fine, Mark, fuck sake. Why is everyone always askin’ me if I’m alrigh’?” Simon spat the words as if they were venom on his tongue. “What’re doin’ Simon, you’re wastin’ your life, Simon, you’re a disappointment Simon. Aye, I am. And guess what Mark? I don’t gie a fuck. Alrigh’? You’ve seen the fuckin’ adverts. ‘Choose Life’, all that shite. You’ve said yersel, choose life. We joke about it, righ’? But I don’t wantae choose life. Really. I’m no choosin’ life, alrigh’?! So just fuck off. I’ve had enough!”  
With the brunt of the attack over, Mark glanced at Simon in sadness. They did joke about the anti-drugs campaign slogan, but they’d never taken it seriously. Simon sounded like he was. Simon sounded like he didn’t want a life anymore. But Mark couldn’t let Simon just think that. Simon was his friend, but Simon was hurting. And Simon didn’t know how to hurt, Simon couldn’t. So Simon tried to hurt other people instead, to take away the pain.  
“I know ye blame yersel for Baby Dawn, but Si, ye have tae understand, it wasnae your fault. It wasnae. Alrigh’?” Mark said gently, as gently as he’d ever spoken to anyone, let alone Simon. Simon looked like he was all set to blow up again, but instead, to Mark’s complete surprise, he broke down. 

Simon David Williamson did not cry. Simon David Williamson did not shed a tear for anything. And yet, Simon David Williamson found himself consumed by the same sobs that had racked through his body the night his daughter died. Those heaving, out of your control sobs, that make your whole entire being convulse and your head throb, and yet you can’t stop. Simon David Williamson was crying.  
And he was crying in front of Mark Renton, of all people. The person that Simon was never weak in front of. Simon was never weak full stop, but he especially was never weak in front of Mark, simply because of the ammunition it would give him. But in this very moment, Simon was beyond the point of caring. 

He cried. 

And Mark Renton sat him on that same worn sofa he had previously been sat on, and allowed his friend to be weak. And despite the animosity that had been everywhere in the conversation prior, Simon felt almost grateful to Mark. Simon was weak in that one moment, and the old Simon was reappearing. All he needed was that one moment of solace. One moment of heartache, and Simon was given it, by the most unlikely person. Himself. 

With Mark’s help, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> hello there
> 
> please tell me if this was terrible this is the first trainspotting thing i've ever wrote
> 
> have a lovely day! :)


End file.
